


In the Dust I see the End of the World

by victoriousscarf



Series: In These Times of Sorrow I Hold to Your Name [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Grey Wardens, Historical Fantasy, I haven't written a 1920s Dragon Age AU yet I say and then start the story in 1917, Multi, there's still magic, these tags are gonna be added to, wwi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: It wasn't even like Alim hadn't made mistakes in his life before. The fact he had volunteered for the army from prison attested to that. But he expected to be shipped off to France and fight in one war. Not to fall through the Earth and discover a whole other war brewing beneath the battlefield, one of magic and ancient grudges and he never knew how much duty was going to taste like blood.





	1. Prologue, Before the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I looked at Meddalarksen today and went you know what fandom I haven't written a 1920s story for yet??? Which earned me a few "fuck yous" and technically this verse is starting itself in 1917 but it will meander its way (perhaps violently) to the 20s in due time. And literally every other character I feel like from here to Inquisition. 
> 
> Tags to be added as shit goes down.

“Hey,” and Alim cracked an eye open. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, adding a hint more of an accent than he usually had. “Should I have?”

“Well, we’re presumably about the go into battle together, at some point,” the boy next to him said. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?”

Alim made a sound and rolled over, hoping the earnest faced boy would do the same.

“You still haven’t told me your name, you know.”

“Why would I?” Alim asked. “It’s not like we’re to be friends.”

“Why not?”

Staring for a second at the darkness at the back of his eyelids, Alim rolled back over. “Others are trying to sleep too.”

“Yeah,” and for a moment there was silence. “You know, I’m glad we’re finally getting shipped out. The camps with all that disease was sort of scary.”

“You realize that if disease broke out it would be as bad if not worse in the confines of a ship, right?” Alim asked and opened his eyes just to see the boy’s face fall. “Though I suspect it would have by now. We’re almost to Europe, and will be out of these confines soon.”

“Not fond of enclosed spaces, huh?”

Alim almost snarled. “There’s nothing to be fond of, or not,” he said. “Being confined or in open space simply is.”

“That’s,” his companion started.

“My name is Alim Surana, now go to sleep.”

“That’s a strange name,” and not to long ago, Alim would have gotten into a fist fight for less. “I’m Alistair.”

“Wonderful,” Alim said. “Now do be quiet.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all?” Alistair asked. “You know. About the war and all that.”

Alim felt the boat rocking around them, the snores of other men and boys around them—and honestly so many of them were boys like Alistair, big eyed and earnest and while they may have been close in age, Alim didn’t feel the same at all. “It’s not so different from what came before,” he settled for finally.

“Fight a lot of wars have you?”

“Go to sleep,” Alim said again. “Or honestly, just shut up.”

Except when the boy finally did that, Alim found himself wide awake, staring at the darkness and hating the silence.

-0-

Alistair found him again, and kept finding him. Alim tried not to dwell on it, or invite him to continue seeking him out.

“What’s the tattoo on your face anyway?”

“Nothing,” Alim muttered.

“You’re not like most people I know,” Alistair said, and they were walking, already burdened down with supplies and Alim could already hear the bombardment in the distance. Which wasn’t so surprising, considering he’d heard it could even be heard in England, across the channel, some nights.

“I would presume not,” Alim muttered, hands wrapped around the straps of his pack.

This was better, he kept telling himself, than where he had been. The cold air, the sounds of bombs and Alistair’s sincere wish to know him better, it was all better than sitting in a prison cell for a murder he hadn’t committed, hadn’t even known about until Jowan ran and the police showed up at his apartment while Alim had stupidly been waiting for him.

“My whole family was in the military, you know,” Alistair said, as now even he couldn’t deny the sound of bombs.

“Is that a comfort?” Alim asked.

“Not really,” Alistair said. “But I hope I can make them all proud.”

Alim made a sound, not quite of disgust, not quite of agreement. “If you think anyone can be proud of something like this.”

Alistair looked at him, some confusion and some disbelief, but there were orders being barked at them and other things to focus on, as the trenches came into view.

-0-

“If the French and English say they have already tried this, then why are we doing it _again_ , as if we are somehow better?” Alim asked.

“You’re not questioning our orders, are you?” Alistair asked, checking his gear beside him.

“When they’re moronic and likely to end in death?” Alim asked. “You’re _not_?”

“We’re here to follow orders,” Alistair said.

“That’s because you actually respect Duncan,” Alim said. “Even when he listens to Loghain Mac Tir.”

“Who is our commanding officer,” Alistair said.

“Who is an idiot.”

“You might not want to say that too loudly,” Alistair said.

“What else could they do to me?” Alim replied, already suspecting there was quite a lot. “I’m here, aren’t I? On the verge of,” he glanced at the top of the trench in front of them, the sounds of guns and artillery already going off above them. “Going over the top.”

“I don’t want any of you turning around and running back here,” a voice called from behind them, Loghain surveying his untested troops.

Alim shook his head and double checked his straps before grabbing his gun.

“I mean,” Alistair said. “We’ll stick together, right? Watch out for each other?”

Alim looked at him, wondering what in him inspired this strange desire for comradeship. “Yeah,” he agreed because he had no idea what else to say. They were about to run a frontal assault on an entrenched German position across open ground.

There was no reason to reject whatever naïve hope was in front of him.

Because when they went over the top it was as awful and worse than Alim had feared. He had thought it would be stupid to run at machine guns, but it was a thousand times worse than any back-alley fight with brass knuckles, or shoot out on the streets. The entire patch of ground in front of them was already filled with holes and blood and mud with bullets spraying everywhere.

So he ran, like everyone else ran, hoping to get across the open field and into hand to hand combat. But at least that you had the potential to survive, if you were smart. This was simply pitting yourself against the cold hard machine and hoping you didn’t fall.

Except Alistair tripped and they both went down. For a second Alim wondered if he did on purpose, as something went whizzing right over their heads. “Come on,” he said, shoving Alistair into a crater, giving them some cover. “Are you alright, are you hurt?”

“Just twisted something,” Alistair said and Alim glanced up, seeing only more mud and death around them. “I’m fine, I’m fine, we should keep—”

“Keep what?” Alim started to ask, as there was a sudden screaming sound and the earth around them shook. “An earthquake?” he asked, and buried himself further into the trench as if that would do a damn thing.

“What’s—” Alistair started to ask and before Alim could say anything, he felt them tumbling down, even though he had been as far into the crater as they could get.

“Just hold on!” he heard another voice yell, to the side of them.

“To what?” Alistair yelled and now that voice was above him because he was only falling.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd THINK studying WWI for like the past eight years would allow me to write a kick ass wwi battle scene but actually all it did was make me want to yell and cry so we're just sorta skimming past that now.
> 
> (The sickness Alistair mentions at the beginning is the Spanish Influenza which let me tell you, was a fucking terror, especially since it really started spreading when the Americans were entering the war, so a lot of training camps and ships became death traps).
> 
> Alim's back story is based off a biography of Monk Eastman I read where he was a gangster sent to prison and more or less recruited out of there and became a war hero. Trying to keep the "conscript" part of the backstory, and also sticking Jowan in there. Alistair is /slightly/ more put together than Alim is allowing for at the moment.


	2. Chapter One: After the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like don't get me wrong I'm all for mythology building my own AU but I really just wanna introduce Zevran...

“Oh good, you’re awake,” and Alim hadn’t opened his eyes yet so he couldn’t figure out how the other voice had figured it out. “I was starting to worry it would never happen.”

When Alim opened his eyes he saw stone above him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, pushing himself up on his elbows because all he remembered was _falling_ and now he was underground, but there was no hole above him.

He jumped when a muffled explosion went off overhead, the sound of artillery distant.

“What the hell happened?” he asked the ceiling.

“Tis not a question the stone can answer,” and he whipped his head around, seeing a woman crouched beside him with her head tilted.

At first he could only stare at her. “Can you?” he asked finally.

“Perhaps, if I had a will to,” she said, standing and flicking some of her dark hair out of her eyes. “You are a curious figure to find here.”

“Where is here?” Alim asked, pushing himself to his feet and almost falling.

“It is incredibly difficult to those not magic touched to find this place,” the woman continued. “Even with these new weapons, and their deep mines, this world is ancient, and knows how to stay hidden. It eaten soldiers like you before in this war, so why now. Why you?”

“That,” Alim stared. “That didn’t even remotely come close to answering my question and actually only introduced more.”

“Look,” she said, waving a hand behind her and hesitantly, Alim took a few steps forward, only to find himself on the edge of an underground cliff, overlooking miles and miles of an underground cavern. “You fell,” she said. “Through stone and wards and came to this place.”

“This place cannot possibly exist,” Alim said, shaking his head and stepping backward. “This is a dream or death. I always thought everyone would be wrong about the afterlife.”

“This is no afterlife,” she said, and he turned his head to look at her, her eyes glinting gold in the low light. “And I am no one’s dream.”

“Who are you then?”

“Someone of this world,” she said, turning away and walking over to a prone form he had not noticed. “And someone who is curious of who you might be.”

“Is, Alistair?” Alim asked, rushing over. “Is he alive?” he asked, feeling for a pulse.

“Your concern is shocking, for its lateness,” she said.

“I didn’t see him,” Alim said, defensively.

“Aye, he seems to still be alive,” she said. “But taking even longer than you to wake.”

“Did any others fall when we did?” Alim asked, shaking Alistair and receiving no response.

“Some, perhaps,” she said. “Though I have not seen whence they landed, or have any notion if they are alive or not.”

There was another rolling shake from above, the sound of battle. Alim’s eyes darted to the ceiling. “Tis been like that for years now,” she said. “You mortals must be fighting quite the war up there, with no notion of the war down here.”

“There is another war down here?” Alim asked, still crouched over Alistair.

“Of course there is,” she said, with a smile that spoke of the darkness around them. Having confirmed that Alistair was still breathing, if not awake, Alim rose to his feet again.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked.

She tilted her head and crossed her arms. “I would normally reject such a request out of hand. And yet,” she moved forward, and he wanted to lean back but held still. “You are different. You are not like him,” and she gestured to Alistair’s still form. “You are from above and yet feel of here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, shaking his head.

“And what is your name, upworlder?”

“Alim,” he said. “Surana.”

“And I am called Morrigan,” she said, and walked back to the edge of the outcropping they stood on.

Alim stared. “That’s the name of a goddess of death.”

“Oh goodness,” she laughed. “Is it? Fear not, I am no god, and have no interest in the moment at your death.”

“In the moment,” Alim repeated and turned when Alistair groaned. He rushed back to his side. “Alistair? Are you alright?”

“What?” Alistair groaned.   

“I don’t have much, or any, of an answer to that,” Alim said and Alistair sat up and almost fell back over again until Alim caught him.

“What a good friend you are,” Morrigan said, still standing near the edge, like she had been watching, before turning back to them.

“What does that mean?” Alim snapped.

“Uh, are we dreaming? Are we dead?” Alistair asked. “Who is that woman?” and he couldn’t quite look at her, her clothing barely covering.

“Her name is Morrigan,” Alim said, urging Alistair to sit on his own.

“You must leave,” Morrigan said. “You should never have been in this place to begin with.”

“How could we possibly,” Alim started to asked when he heard a yell that sounded a shocking amount like their commanding officer—

“Alistair!” and Duncan came around the corner, his pack dropped somewhere long ago.

“That’s an awful lot of concern for a solider just sent over the top,” Alim muttered and Alistair stared at Duncan with wide eyes.

“You’re here too?” he asked, as Duncan reached him and dropped to his knees.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Aside from the fall,” Alistair said. “I think so?”

“He seems to be a little dizzy is all,” Alilm said and looked over to where Morrigan had stood to find only empty space. He stared, starting to walk over when he realized Duncan had not been alone, trailing two other soldiers and Loghain bringing up the rear, constantly looking over his shoulder.

“So we found them,” Loghain said. “Are you willing to look for a way _out_ yet?”

“I believe we were doing both,” Duncan said, helping Alistair stand.

Alim went back to staring at where Morrigan had stood, trying to figure out how she disappeared like smoke. He walked over, considering the ground where she had been.

“Did anyone else fall?” one of the soldiers asked. “I couldn’t tell, everything was so loud and,” Loghain made a disgusted noise, cutting him off.

“How many of our soldiers were first time conscripts?”

“Conscript?” the soldier protested. “I volunteered! That doesn’t mean—nothing prepares you for something like that!”

“War is war,” Loghain said.

“I think someone else fell too,” Alistair said. “I saw—Cailan. I think I saw him fall too.”

That seemed to get both Loghain and Duncan’s attention. “That would be too much coincidence,” Loghain said.

“You’re the one who would not let him leave your sight during battle,” Duncan said.

“Like you kept this whelp close to you,” Loghain said. “And do not act as if you were not watching Cailan too.”

Alim finally turned back around, having found no sign to explain Morrigan’s disappearance. “You’re all talking like you know each other,” he said. “Which is mad, considering how large the army actually _is_.”

“I don’t know them,” the second soldier said and the first nodded his head.

But Alistair looked at Duncan who looked at Loghain, who in turn narrowed his eyes at Alim. “And does that concern you somehow, private?”

“Considering I’m still expecting to wake up and have all of this be a dream?” Alim said. “Not particularly.” The world seemed to shake and Alim looked over his shoulder because this time it was not from above. “What was that?”

“We need to return to the surface,” Loghain said.

“Without searching for Cailan?” Duncan demanded.

“Do we have the time?” Loghain snapped. “I do not want to abandon that boy down here anymore than you do, but the reality is,” a roar came from down below. “We are all out of time.”

“I am not leaving without him,” Duncan said, something set in his face.

“If you wish to die, be my guest,” Loghain gestured. “But I signed up for one war already, not two.”

“You both know about this,” Alim said, and they both focused on him instead of each other. “You both know about this world already, whatever it is. You’re even sounding like you know what that roar was.”

“Well, someone isn’t obtuse,” Loghain said.

“And I would like answers,” Alim said.

“Now is not the time,” Duncan said. “We have to find Cailan before we can head to the surface—”

“It is already too late and you know it,” Loghain said.

“Why is that boy so important?” Alim demanded. “You both keep talking about him and even Alistair knows who he is. But Alistair doesn’t know about _this_ , and you do, and what the fuck is making that sound down there?”

“That’s why it’s already too late,” Loghain said. “Anything else can wait, Duncan, you are going to kill everyone here in your stubborn pride.”

“Which you would know nothing about,” Duncan said, heading toward a path at the edge of the outcropping, leading down. Alim hadn’t noticed it before. “He is Maric’s son, I thought he meant more to you.”

“Just because you belong to some mystic order doesn’t make you better,” Loghain said and went the opposite way, to a path that appeared to lead up. The other two soldiers looked at each other before following him, leaving Alistair and Alim still standing where they were.

“What is going on?” Alim asked.

“I don’t,” Alistair said and took a few steps after Duncan. “Actually have any more idea than you do.”

“You seem to have some,” Alim started when a shrieking sound cut him off. Before any of them could move much further apart, a dark form came hurtling up the ledge they stood on, seeming to have climbed up the rock with what looked like _claws_.

Alim stared for a second, going for anything only to remember too late he had nothing, none of his usual assortment of weapons and his gun had been lost in the fall. The creature was getting closer every second and all he had was a trench knife, which was stuck in its sheath. “This isn’t real,” he tried to say, and Loghain had turned back around, was yelling something, and Alistair still had his gun but his shot just seemed to bounce off the creature.

Which made struggling for his knife only seem more pointless but that thing was there, its claws in his face and throwing him back down against the ground and Alim had never once given up a fight in his life, it had often been a problem when he had been on the streets with Jowan but he had nothing, nothing if a bullet just bounced off it—

Its teeth were almost at his throat when a sword came out of the darkness, slicing where the creature’s neck was, even if it didn’t fully behead it and Alim stared in shock as Duncan stood over him, still in his fatigues but with a long silvery sword in one hand. For a second Alim was so distracted by that he didn’t even notice the heavy dark blood on his chest until it started to burn against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Duncan said, because Alim could feel some of it against his face, and a few drops had gotten into his mouth. “I did not want this to happen.”

He reached down, and picked Alim up, even as he thrashed around and choked on whatever was in the blood. “One way or another it will only hurt a few minutes.”

“Duncan!” Loghain yelled, because more of them were coming up the ledge. “Cailan is dead, we have no choices left.”

And Alim still hadn’t seemed to die, though he wished he would through the searing pain. Duncan was running, half carrying him and half dragging him and that seemed odd to Alim, if he was already as good as dead.

But he had no voice to find, and was carried away to the shrieking grating sound behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Alim woke up and honestly that seemed surprising.

For a moment he lay there, on the hard ground, tasting heavy blood in his mouth and hearing a strange scratching sound that seemed to be only in his own head. He kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply from the chest, trying to figure out what had changed.

His body—it didn’t feel right anymore. His mind—that certainly didn’t feel right anymore, it felt twisted and snarled and the scratching that wouldn’t ever stop—

“What do we do?” a small voice said in the darkness off to his left.

“I don’t know,” Duncan said and Alim’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his arms, startling both Alistair and Duncan.

“You’re awake,” Alistair said, brightness in his voice but Alim only had eyes for Duncan.

“What happened to me?” he demanded, pulling his shaking legs underneath him, bracing his arms on the ground to crouch, ready to flee or fight if he had to, if only his mind would stop driving him _mad_. “What is this?”

“You survived,” Duncan said.

“I noticed that,” Alim started to snarl.

“Darkspawn blood is fatal,” Duncan continued, as if Alim hadn’t interrupted. “In almost every case. The only exception is to become a Grey Warden.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alim said, Alistair turning his puppy like eyes on Duncan, something soft and something hard in his face. “Grey Warden? Darkspawn?”

“We cannot tell why someone would survive, and why someone wouldn’t,” Duncan said. “To survive the Darkspawn blood has to be mixed with a specific flower, and well, some other things. But even if that mixture is given to someone, in most cases they don’t survive.”

“And you what? Gave me that mixture?” Alim asked, still crouched.

“Yes,” Duncan said, watching him.

“And I survived. So that makes me—what? Exactly?”

Ducan’s eyes were dark in the low light. “One of the few soldiers in a war very few realize is being fought.”

“No,” Alim said, finally standing up and swaying. The world was spinning and the scratching sound had gone nowhere. “I signed up for one war to get my freedom back. I won’t be a soldier in some other conflict. I’m not going to give myself to you or this world or—”

“You don’t have a choice anymore,” Duncan said.

“Fuck you and fuck all of this,” Alim said, and he shoved Alistair away when he came over, holding a hand out to help steady Alim.

“Alim,” the boy started.

“No, and fuck you too,” Alim said, rubbing a hand over his aching head.

“Your body is already changing,” Duncan said. “You can hear them, can’t you? The Darkspawn. They’re there in your head now. No matter how far you run or how high on the surface you go, they’re always going to be there now.”

“Well, then what does fighting them matter?” Alilm asked. “If they’re going to be driving me crazy no matter what happens—”

“You get used to it,” Alistair said softly and Alim stared at him.

“I thought you knew as little about this as I did.”

Alistair looked down and then at Duncan and back to his feet. “No. I knew more.”

Alim took a breath and another one and kept breathing through the panic and the rage and the fear. “Where are the others?” he asked instead.

“They left,” Duncan said. “Whether that will do them any good or not.”

“And we’re still down here,” Alim said. “Looking for—what? That other boy?”

“He’s dead,” Alistair said, voice still soft.

“Then why are we still down here?”

“Because the situation was more dire than I expected,” Duncan said. “And Cailan’s death—”

“I don’t care about some boy dying,” Alim said. “I’ve seen plenty of other’s die without it being any deal at all. It’s life, it happens.”

“His blood—”

“Was special?” Alim demanded. “He was special somehow? I bet he was rich too, as those seem to be the only lives that _do_ matter to anyone.”

“He was in a line of old kings,” Duncan said. “Magic kings, though there was no magic actually left in their line, their blood carried the old curses and the old duties.”

“So the last king is dead?” Alim asked. “Great. Monarchies are terrible anyway.”

“His blood was also a protection!” Duncan said, finally seeming to lose his temper. “It helped keep some of the darkness at bay. It might not have mattered, considering what’s coming.”

“Oh, something’s coming? That’s just another reason to get out of here,” Alim said.

“This isn’t the sort of thing you can run from,” Duncan said. “If this is a Blight and if it goes unstopped then soon no where in the world will be safe from it.”

“A Blight?” Alim asked. “Darkspawn,” he shook his head. “These are words that sound like they belong in a fairytale, a story told to children to give them nightmares.”

“Well, it is the stuff of nightmares alright,” Alistair muttered, still standing to one side.

Alim snorted, still shaking his head. “Alright, impress me. What is a Blight then?”

“Under this Earth there are demons,” Duncan said. “You’ve already met them. But there are but the foot soldiers of something darker, eviler. And every few centuries, that darkness wakes up again. And it comes for the surface and all the rest of the world. You know some history, don’t you?”

“So? Are you going to blame the Black Death or the potato famine on something like this?” Alim asked. “Clever, but not convincing.”

“There have always been times of darkness, and times when people stood against it,” Duncan said, voice still deadly serious. “And when an Archdemon awakens, only a Grey Warden can stop them.”

“So you’ve recruited me to your side and now you just expect me to fight for you?” Alim asked, laughing harshly until he remembered where they were and covered his own mouth. “You’re mad. That must be it. You’re just a mad man and—”

“I saved your life—”

“And if that’s true you condemned me to war,” Alim snarled, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I never asked for this, I have no intention of fighting for you—”

Another roar came from the depths, the first one since Alim woke up with blood in his mouth and the scratch in his head and it made him cry out, as that scratch turned into a scream. Covering his head he dropped to his knees, breathing through it.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter or not,” Duncan said, still on his feet though Alistair was swaying and looking queasy. “You’re a Grey Warden now. What does it matter to me if you’re going to fight or not?”

With that he turned around, gesturing to Alistair and started to walk away, leaving Alim on his knees, fists clenched in the dirt. For a furious moment he stayed there, breathing harshly before he slammed his hands against the ground and with a snarl of rage pushed himself back to his feet and followed them down further into the darkness.

-0-

“These paths are ancient,” Alim remarked, some long hours later, because Alistair was right. Over time the scratching had almost become bearable. He was paying more attention now, as they walked.

“They were carved by the dwarven people,” Duncan said.

“What? Dwarves? Honestly?” Alim asked, shaking his head.

“There were once many races on the surface of this world,” Duncan said, Alim’s mockery seeming to just slide off his back. “Dwarves among them. But they have retreated deep under the surface now and haven’t been seen in many long years. Once their empire stretched across the world, connected by tunnels and roads much like this one.”

Alim thought he heard something above and looked up. “How far down are we? I can’t even hear the shells anymore.”

“We are deep,” Duncan said and kept going.

“What are you looking for?” Alim asked. “What is down here? I thought you wanted to reach the surface once you found that boy—or didn’t.”

“That was before I realized the Darkspawn had become so active.”

Alim hummed, looking around again. He couldn’t figure out how exactly they could see anything this deep down, because none of them were carrying a light source, nor were the walls obviously glowing. Yet somehow, though murky, he could make out both the trail and both his companions. “So how exactly do most people become Grey Wardens then? Surely for an ancient order you can’t just rely on recruits falling through cracks in the Earth and getting blood on them.”

“We recruit,” Duncan said. “I was recruited, and so was Alistair. You are an exception, not the rule.”

“And then you what, go back to your normal lives as long as the Darkspawn don’t bother you so much? Who do you recruit anyway? Surely, considering the possibility of long jaunts underground you can’t recruit important people.”

“It depends,” Duncan said. “But you’re trying to create some narrative or other, aren’t you? Would it please you to know that yes, most Warden recruits are criminals and the downtrodden and those who would usually not be missed?”

Alim managed to keep a sneer off his face. “Well, I suppose I do fit in then,” he said instead. “Being the poor immigrant criminal that I am.”

Both Duncan and Alistair stared at him.

“Recruited out of prison?” Duncan asked and Alim grunted. “Well, perhaps that is why you survived. I have wondered if it is an issue of willpower. Those who grasp and struggle through pain to survive, those with the will to live through anything—I wonder if that affects the outcome of the joining.”

“Does it truly matter in the long run?” Alim asked. “Or even the short one?”

“If this is what I fear,” Duncan said. “We will need many more recruits.”

But he turned and kept walking in the darkness. Alim paused again, looking behind them at the way they had come, wondering if he should start climbing back up, rather than continue to go down. With a sigh, he followed the others again.

-0-

Sometime later he found Alistair by his side again. “Do you want something?”

“I simply,” Alistair said and stopped. “I know it’s a lot—”

“I wasn’t fond of you,” Alim said. “It’s not like you betrayed me by not telling me, it’s not like it matters you knew something I didn’t.”

“Really?” Alistair asked. “Because you seem really bothered.”

“Oh, I am,” Alim said. “But it has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re a bit of a bastard, huh?” Alistair said after a beat.

“Must be,” Alim said. “Seeing as I was born one.”

“Yeah?” Alistair said. “Me too.”

Alim rolled his eyes, about to tell Alistair off again when the scratching in his head turned into a long, tangled snarl. “I—”    

“Yes,” Duncan said, drawing a sword and Alim stared. “The Darkspawn are here. We can sense them.”

“And how do we fight them?” Alim demanded, gesturing to himself and Alistair. “I see no blades for us. I would barely even know how to use one.”

“We could try and hide, but they can sense us as well,” Duncan said.

“Then what—” Alim started, desperation leaking into his voice, because he had survived so much already it felt pathetic to die without a weapon in his hand or a chance at all.

But he never got to hear Duncan’s answer as he was picked up and thrown, hitting the wall hard. Gasping, he rolled over to his front, forcing himself up to see a large creature rear up out of the darkness, horns scraping the top of the tunnel as the creature pounded its chest and then charged.

Staggering to his feet, he barely got out of the way in time. Except he tripped in the next second, a Darkspawn like those that had attacked earlier behind him. He yelped, struggling as the demonic creature descended on him, tearing gorges in the creature’s eyes with his fingers and when it screamed in pain he fought it for its blade, both their hands slippery with blood.

His heart was pounding and the scratch was one long note now, but he had been in scrapes before. He had survived them before.

Elbowing the creature in the neck, he finally won the struggle for its sword, stabbing the blade in the creature’s neck.

His fight had only been with one creature though, and he turned around in time to see the large monster from earlier pluck Duncan up off the ground and crush him in its hand. He heard Alistair scream, and found himself scanning the ground near the monster and Duncan’s body, wondering if he could find the sword Duncan had held.

Not that it seemed to do Duncan much good, as the monster in question turned its horned head back to him.

He clenched his hands around the strange blade he’d won from the Darkspawn, preparing to face whatever this was like he had prepared to face his certain death so many times before.

Except the monster took one step forward him and froze, ice crackling across its skin. Before Alim could process that, or wonder what was happening, a stone fist slammed into the creature from behind, shattering it and revealing the strange girl from earlier standing in the tunnel.

“I would suggest a retreat,” she said, in her lilting voice and took off deeper into the darkness, into a side tunnel Alim was certain either Duncan or he would have missed.

“Are,” Alistair stared and Alim didn’t bother to answer him, taking off after the stranger. He heard the scrape of something on the ground, before Alistair’s frantic footsteps joined his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this world building out of the way and this show on the road!


End file.
